Echoes in Death (In Death #44)(79)

“Show?” Morris repeated.

“Whatever stage he’d set, whatever costume he’d chosen. She fought, struggled, tore her wrists up fighting the restraints. She’d have told him she was pregnant. It would be at the top of her mind. ‘Please, don’t. I’m pregnant.’ What did he think of that?”

She looked over at the male victim. “Can you confirm he died first?”

“Yes. About ten minutes before. And, again from a visual exam, there were gaps in time between several of the injuries, on both victims. It appears—I stress appears for now—the male victim suffered a blow to the right temple, the initial attack. The rug burns on the heels appear to have been incurred around the same time. And this?” Morris laid a sealed finger, gently, on the bruising beside Miko’s left eye. “Again, in that same time frame. This isn’t as violent, this blow, but would have disoriented, debilitated.”

And hurt like hell, Eve thought.

“His hands next?”

“If you want opinion rather than confirmation, yes.”

“Okay.” It all jibed with what she’d seen, felt, observed on scene.

Give pain, create terror—the terror was every bit as important as the pain. Control, perform, humiliate.

“We’ll get out of your way. Anything that jumps out—whether you can confirm or not—let me know. Anything.”

As she walked out, she heard Morris order the volume up. And the angel sang.

She thought about detouring to the lab, but accepted it was far too soon, a waste of time. Instead she checked addresses, then drove to do the notifications of the next of kin, and shatter more lives.

When they finished, Peabody put her head back, shut her eyes. “It’s always harder than you tell yourself it will be. It’s always harder.”

“You helped Miko’s mother.”

“I hope. Some. It’ll help more when Nina goes to her. And maybe, when the shock wears off some for her, for Xavier’s parents, they’ll remember something. Some details that adds to this.”

“Have the bartender brought in,” Eve ordered as she pulled into Central’s garage. “I want a look at him, and I want him to have a look at me. In the box.”

“How about I send Uniform Carmichael and whoever he picks? He can be smooth and persuasive.”

“Do that. Then check with Baxter and Olsen, see how far they’ve gotten on the list. Anything buzzes, we need to know.”

They started up in an elevator that quickly grew crowded. “I’ve got to make a stop. Get this started.” Eve shoved off, switched to glide, and aimed for Mira’s office.

Mira’s admin, her personal dragon, sat in the outer office busily keyboarding.

“I need to see her.”

“Dr. Mira is in a session.”

“Don’t fuck with me on this.” Eve felt all the anger and frustration she’d shoved down through the day rising fast, like hot vomit in the throat. “This directly concerns her.”

“Is Mr. Mira—”

“No, it’s not that.” Reading the genuine fear in the admin’s eyes, Eve fought to throttle back. “But it concerns both of them, and it’s important.”

“She is in a session, and specifically asked not to be interrupted barring emergency. She’ll be done in forty minutes. I can get you in directly after and shift her next appointment.”

“I’ll get back if I can. She doesn’t leave here today without seeing or speaking to me. Clear?”

“Absolutely.”

With a curt nod, Eve strode out. She chose glides again to give herself time to settle down, then pulled out her ’link.

Another admin answered, but Roarke’s sort of magnificent Caro usually proved more flexible.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?”

“Hey, sorry, but is there any way I can speak to him, or that he can tag me back as soon as possible?”

“Give me a minute.” So saying, the screen went to a waiting blue.

It took that minute, and a little more, but Roarke’s face came on screen.

She heard a babble of voices in the background, and a number of whooshes, thuds.

“Lieutenant?”

“Where are you?” she asked.

“At An Didean, just outside what will be the recreation center.”

She thought of the shelter he was creating for disenfranchised kids—and the dead girls they’d found sealed inside the walls of the building the previous year.

“I need a favor.”

“All right.”

“Can you work in a stop by the Miras’ sometime today?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, and I just want to keep it that way.” Stupid, she told herself. Overreacting. But she couldn’t stop it. “I thought you could take a good look at their security, maybe do what you do to beef it up, or add a couple layers. He hit again last night, killed both of them this time. I know the Miras aren’t on the list—she’s outside his age preference, and they’re not seriously wealthy, exactly, but—”

“I’ll pick up a few things, go by before I come home tonight. Will that work?”

“Yeah.” Ridiculous relief flooded her. “Thanks. Mavis and Leonardo and the kid are in New L.A. for a couple of days. Some fashion thing for him, some gig for her. They’re not really in the pattern, either, but I don’t have to think about them right now. The Miras … I just don’t want to risk it.”